


Meaning Less

by lockis, vvyrd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dissociation, Human Experimentation, M/M, MT!Prompto, Poor Prompto, hurt with eventual comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockis/pseuds/lockis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvyrd/pseuds/vvyrd
Summary: Nonsense about some stolen MT from nineteen years past made no sense in context of Noctis’s best friend. But the Chancellor pushed and demanded for its return, and the ground by Titan’s feet began to crumble, and Prompto accepted it.And they let it happen.





	Meaning Less

**Author's Note:**

> kinkmeme fill for:
> 
> [After Titan, Ardyn promises to let the bros go under one confition - that they retun the MT that was stolen by Lucis many years ago aka Prompto. Outnumbered, exhausted, and surrounded Prompto has no choice but to turn himself over to save his friends]
> 
> that got a little out of hand and became a huge MTprompto au

It’s no secret Noctis has trouble with his words. 

Finding them--finding the right ones, that is--tends to be a challenge, one he’d rate somewhere far above fighting a behemoth. So really, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that he managed to lose his tongue so soon after a few mindless barks.

_ “Prompto, what the hell?” _

No, 

_ “Why would you--”  _

_ He bit at his lip. _

Thinking back to his choice words already has him cringing, his stomach in knots. Running back through a conversation from only minutes ago wasn’t likely the wisest pass-time, given how raw and fresh his feelings all are. However, it’s not like he had much else to do. Thanks to his shouting (his insistence for everyone to  _ just shut up, shut the hell up _ because it wasn’t okay,  _ it was absolutely not okay _ ), what would have otherwise been a deadly silence is occupied with the loud mechanical hum of the dropship’s working engines.

It’s awkward. There he goes again with his poor word choice, because this is definitely more than awkward, and he just doesn’t know how to put it; he’s angry, feeling bitter, deserted, helpless, and confused, and frustrated, and so exhausted. He doesn’t have the energy for all these emotions, and yet here they are, bundled up like they carry no weight. And he has no idea how to describe it aside from  _ awkward. _ It’s awkward feeling all these at once. It’s awkward to have a lifeless silence hang over his feelings.

Noctis shifts in his spot, crossing his arms and tucking his hands between them and his chest. His eyes are trained on the ground and his foot taps against the floor every few seconds. And he’s read like an open book.

Ignis draws out a heavy sigh as he finishes cleaning his glasses (a nervous habit Noctis has come to know well) and turns his look Noct’s way.

“I understand,” he starts, his voice hushed beneath the humming so his words don’t carry far, “that today has been difficult. It’s  _ going _ to be difficult, for quite some time, I’m certain, but,” he takes a breath in, and Noctis can see the way his eyes drop down momentarily, the skin between his eyebrows creases, and Noctis knows he isn’t going to like what he hears.   
“We will have to make do.” And Noctis zones out from there on out, huffing as Ignis tries to carry on his lecture. He rolls his eyes and groans and tries to make it obvious in every way possible that he doesn’t want to hear it, but Ignis presses on. Ignis’s words are lost in his ears and they blend into the ambience and for just a moment Noct manages to block out the world. But it only lasts a moment.

He knows this isn’t the place, the time, for him to be acting like this. He know that normally, Gladio would take this opportunity to berate him, going on and on about how this isn’t about him, how he has to get over his feelings and face the godsdamn problem.

But Gladio isn’t berating him. He’s standing silently on the other side of Ignis, because maybe he’s having just as much trouble processing the feeling. And Noctis can feel his heavy glare on him, and it works almost as well as any time he’s yelled and screamed. It works almost better. Noct can feel the guilt and shame of acting like this, so childishly, mix and bubble in with the rest of the awkwardness.

And maybe it works so well because of the volumes his silence brings. And Noctis hates that he knows why Gladio’s so quiet.

No matter how benevolent that Chancellor Izunia promised to be, they knew they couldn’t call themselves safe. Maybe it would have been better to risk it out by Titan’s feet, and try to find their own way out. So what if it wasn’t the “best” option? If this was the better option, they clearly hadn’t considered everything.

Because anything would be better than dealing Prompto right into the enemy’s hand.

There’s been something simmering at the depths of his stomach, something that keeps him from looking over to his left, because he knows well that Prompto had supposedly sold his own safety in exchange for everyone else’s--that they were just going to let it happen. And he doesn’t think he can manage to look at Prompto right now.

Because none of it made sense. 

Nonsense about some, stolen MT from nineteen years past made no sense in context of Noctis’s best friend. But the Chancellor pushed and demanded for its return, and the ground by Titan’s feet began to crumble, and Prompto accepted. And they let it happen.

And, dammit, he wishes he could just tune it all out, go back to zoning out on a blank mind, because that’d be a million times better than just letting these thoughts sink in.

* * *

It’s somewhere along sinking into his thoughts that Noctis loses track of time. He’s lost in his mind, wandering through memories and worries, and thinking over all the burdens today has brought when he almost misses it. 

“I think we’ll--” a breath, “--be at Lestallum soon.”

Noctis keep his eyes forward, or on the ground, or anywhere else, because he can’t manage to ground them, but there’s this sense in his stomach that if he looks over, it’ll only be that much worse.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Mm.”

It’s short-lived. But he’s glad to have said something. That Prompto said  _ something _ , when Noctis couldn’t find it in him to try, knowing that he’d probably just fumble through his sentences if he started. 

So he’s glad. He’s ready to leave it there. Pretending that there wasn’t anything else, that it was fine to knot it off there.

But then,

“I…” It’s hesitant, like Prompto doesn’t even know where he’s going with this, “I don’t,” Noctis can hear him choking on the words, “understand it. Myself.”    
  
“What?” And Noct cringes, because maybe he had a bit of a tone to his voice, one that sounded almost angry, and he hopes Prompto knows that wasn’t the intention. But he doubts that.

“The whole. You know. MT-thing. I don’t get it either.” Noctis--in lieu of another broken “yeah”--nods, not entirely sure if Prompto can see it. If he’s looking his way. He doubts that. “But if it’s what I have to do...I don’t have--yeah.”

“Sorry,” he adds.

Noct bites his lip. He doesn’t know when he turned his head, but now he can see Prompto. Prompto running circles with his thumb into the underside of his wrist, toying with the clasps of his wristband. The curve of his nose, pointed down, and eyes following the line it makes. The way those eyes are red and squinted, trying to keep back whatever he was holding in. 

Noctis doesn’t know what to say. What to do. But his mouth is miles ahead of his mind, and out slips a bitter “It’s not okay.”

Prompto’s head snaps up, and the two of them catch each other’s eyes for a second. Noctis can’t move his eyes. Prompto’s a step ahead of him, looking the other way. Noctis can only see this as another reason to hate himself.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re. You’re okay,” he says, slowly, trying to keep his voice settled. “It’s--this,” he says, his arms flying out almost involuntarily as he looks around the ship, “This isn’t okay.” 

He watches as Prompto nods. He thinks he hears a noise caught in Prompto’s throat.

There’s a beat.

“We’ll come back for you. I, I’m not leaving you.” He begins to worry that his eyes are growing red. “I’ll come back for you.”

( _ “i won’t let them do anything to you” _ goes unspoken. he knows he can’t promise it.)

“I know you will.” Prompto’s voice wavers despite the confidence he’s so clearly trying to portray. He bobs his head just a bit, and Noct imagines he’s thinking something about keeping on keeping on.

* * *

Noctis makes a mistake.

_ Made _ a mistake. Minutes ago. Caught in the silence between them, he reached out. 

Prompto stopped playing with his wristband.

Noctis wasn’t quite expecting the warmth to Prompto’s hand. It wasn’t on his mind.

And now, after a moment’s rest, a chance for either one of them to pull back, Noctis threads his fingers between Prompto’s. 

It’s nice. 

He wishes he’d done it sooner.

* * *

It’s quiet for some time.

Noctis can find solace in knowing the silence means that Ignis and Gladio will let them be, and that Prompto’s having just a hard a time with his words. He also finds solace in the fact the Niffs haven’t bothered them. Yet. But knowing that the only other person on this ship is Ardyn, he figures they’ll be bothered sooner or later. 

Though Noctis supposes he has to rethink that statement--the “person” part of it. For all he knows, all the other MTs on ship sold themselves away to keep their best friend safe. Maybe all the other MTs on ship held hands like this, praying that time could freeze and this moment could last forever. Maybe all the other MTs friends’ had just as hard a time figuring out how to say their “see you”s without letting them turn into “goodbye”s.

It’s weird to think about.

**Author's Note:**

> we'll get to prompto going eMpTy next chapter.  
> haha i'm so funny


End file.
